


Building Momentum

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Impaired Judgment (and other excuses) [80]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 21:31:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18290633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: When he isn’t playing or practicing he feels like he’s just constantly sleeping and shoving calories in his mouth, zoning out and thinking about how to break past that damn team. He’s probably not the most fun for Bryce to be around right now, but if Bryce minds, he doesn’t say anything. He gets it, Jared knows. He can’t say how grateful he is that Bryce gets it.





	Building Momentum

Jared knew, going into things, that the Tri-City Americans weren’t going to be a team they could steamroll with offence. Their goalie, Saunders, was not only the uncontested best in the Dub all season, but he was the MVP of the U20s in December, lead Team USA to Gold. The Sharks picked him up late second round in the draft, and it’s already being said that they got an absolute steal. Maybe a little premature, considering you never know how a goalie will develop, but Jared’s played him enough to know that’s probably the case. He’s _infuriating_. 

Add a solid D-corps and a middling offence — they don’t need better than that, this isn’t a team that does raucous 7-6 or blowout 5-1 games, they’re perfectly content with a string of 2-0, 3-1 wins — and the Hitmen have a steep hill to climb, one that starts on the road. Still, no one ever wants to win just because the opposition is weak: they want to earn it. If they beat the Americans, it’s because they’re better than the league-best, and that suits Jared just fine.

Jared may not be in the same Conference as Tri-City, but he has played them enough to know how frustrating the shutdown game is, how physical they are in comparison to the Hitmen, who go for speed. It’s just that it’s —

It’s just that it’s _awful_. They go into Game One nervy and slow, play the game the Americans want, all tight corners and shots that are easy to block. Every time Jared thinks he’s getting somewhere he’s getting edged out, so the shots he does get away are weak, the wide open passes he tries to send are intercepted. 

“Play our game,” Coach says calmly after the first. They’re down 1-0, and that’s obviously far from insurmountable, but when you’ve got a goalie like that on the other end, the next goal against might just be the nail in their coffin. “I’m not asking for much, just play our game.”

It’s fucking hard though, when it feels like every single player has his number, knows what he’s going to do. Jared watched every single Americans game he could, and it feels like it went the other way — at the very least their coach did and relayed some pretty effective instructions, because their forecheck is pretty effective at making Jared completely useless.

They get shutout. It’s Saunders’ fourth shutout of the playoffs, the first time the Hitmen have been shutout since the regular season, and Jared simmers with frustration afterwards.

They come into Game Two fucking pissed, every single one of them, and it shows. It shows in the checks they’re throwing, though they’re usually a team that takes more than they throw, by-product of speed, shows in the wide-open neutral zone play. When Gregory finally gets past Saunders his cellie is done with his teeth bared, and it’s almost more of a snarl than a grin, one Jared might mirror as he crashes into him, the slam of their helmets together the right side of pain.

They shut the Americans out that night, Gregory’s goal the only one — Krz is standing on his damn head, like the competition is fueling him to be the best vowel-free goalie he can be — and Jared simultaneously hopes the Americans are just as pissed about it as the Hitmen were, as frustrated, and hopes they aren’t, because that anger, that’s the only fuel they have right now.

Every game ends up being a one goal game, save that 2-0 shutout in Game One, two OTs, and Jared has never played harder in his entire life, never been happier to score than the game-winner in Game Four, never been more exhausted and wrung dry as he is stepping off the ice after Game Five, another fucking loss, feeling like if he isn’t careful to make sure he watches his feet every step, they’ll give out from under him and he’ll end up on his ass. 

When he isn’t playing or practicing he feels like he’s just constantly sleeping and shoving calories in his mouth, zoning out and thinking about how to break past that damn team. He’s probably not the most fun for Bryce to be around right now, but if Bryce minds, he doesn’t say anything. He gets it, Jared knows. He can’t say how grateful he is that Bryce gets it.

Every time the Americans pull ahead a game, the Hitmen have come roaring back the next one, and Jared goes into Game Six hoping they can do it again. He doesn’t want to lose it at home. He doesn’t want to lose it at all, but he especially doesn’t want to do it in front of everyone. His whole family’s here; not just his parents and sister and grandma, but freaking _everyone_. His aunt Jo came in from Toronto for this. Erin apparently brought _friends_. Jared is vaguely shocked she has friends, plural. The Mathesons are not a friends plural kind of people.

They take it. By three, this time, decisive, for once, in front of a roaring crowd, pretty much everyone he loves in the building, including his team, he loves this fucking team, he loves these guys, every single one of them, even the most annoying. He’s pretty sure he’s just as exhausted when he steps off the ice as he was after Game Five, but he doesn’t feel it this time, feels like he’s fucking floating and he goes home and fucks his fiancé and sleeps forever and feels like he’s invincible. 

At its best, that’s what hockey gives you, why you do it, or at least why he does it. Why it’s worth it. He needed the reminder, he thinks, and he got it. They all got it and they’re going to go down to Kennewick and take the Chynoweth home to Calgary, because they’re fucking invincible. It’ll probably amuse the shit out of border security. Jared’s looking forward to it.

*

They have to head down the day before Game Seven — no one’s doing a ten hour bus ride and then playing a game — and Jared’s up at four-thirty in the morning for the five-thirty bus call. Bryce is too, making coffee while Jared double-checks his suitcase. He packed last night, because it would have been stupid to do it bleary eyed and under-caffeinated, and even if he missed something he’s unlikely to find it now, but it settles the nerves in him a little. Because he didn’t wake up feeling invincible this morning, just nervous.

“Got your passport?” Bryce asks when he comes in, handing Jared his Eeyore mug. 

Jared rolls his eyes. “I’m not new at this.”

“I know,” Bryce says. “I just—”

“You look more nervous than me right now,” Jared says.

“I just — I really want this for you,” Bryce says.

“I really want this for me too,” Jared says. “Oh my god, stop fidgeting.”

“I can’t,” Bryce says.

“Come here,” Jared says, and Bryce tastes like coffee and sugar when he kisses him. Sugar doesn’t belong in coffee, but it tastes sweet in Bryce’s mouth. 

“I’m so fucking nervous,” Jared admits when he pulls back, resting his forehead against Bryce’s.

“Me too,” Bryce says. “But you’re like, a superstar, so.”

“Any super scouting tips for me today?” Jared asks. He’s already supplied plenty of them. Being engaged to Bryce is like having his own personal coaching staff dissecting plays with him after every game. It’s nice.

“Just that you’ve got this,” Bryce says. “Don’t get in your head.”

“I’m always in my head,” Jared says. “That’s like, my thing.”

“You’re not, though, on the ice,” Bryce says. “Not usually. I can tell when you are. Don’t get in your head.”

“I’ll do my best,” Jared says, and sneaks a few more kisses in before he goes.

The trip is one of the longer ones, but they’re all more than used to it. Jared would think that he’d be too nervous to sleep, but he manages to snatch a couple hours — the 4:30 wakeup helped, probably — and zones out in front of movies the rest of the time, in his head, but not in a bad way, he thinks, going over every single piece of advice or tip he got from Bryce, the coaching staff, his own experience, hoping he can put it together and pull out a W. Not that he’s doing it himself, obviously, but he’s a big part of it, and that part needs to be perfect. That’s all that’s in his control, really.

They get in a little before six, and Jared texts Bryce and his parents to let them know he got in safe, Bryce texting back almost immediately with, _hey u doin smth rn?_

 _Got an hour before dinner. Skype? I can probably kick Sam out for a bit._ , Jared texts back.

_nah go to the applebees its like five mins away_

Jared hits call.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jared asks.

“Why are you calling me when you could see me instead?” Bryce asks.

“I cannot fucking believe you,” Jared says, holding his phone up with his shoulder — the one that isn’t being a bitch still — while he shoves his feet into his shoes. “Are you there already?”

“Yeah,” Bryce says. “Booth near the back.”

“See you in five,” Jared says. 

Sam is looking at him questioningly after he hangs up, which is understandable.

“Family came down to surprise me,” Jared says. “I’ll be back before dinner.”

“Cool,” Sam says, giving him two thumbs up.

“You are ridiculous,” Jared hisses as he sits down across from Bryce.

“Hi Jared,” Bryce says, all mild, which annoys Jared even more.

“You didn’t ask me if you could come,” Jared says.

“You would have said no,” Bryce says. “I wanted to be here for you.”

“And if someone recognises you here?” Jared asks. “If someone takes a picture of you in the stands? It’s not exactly the Saddledome, Bryce, the place isn’t huge.”

Bryce shrugs. “I’m a hockey player, they’re hardly going to think it’s weird for me to go see a hockey game.”

“In _Washington State_?” Jared asks.

“I am from BC,” Bryce says. And Jared guesses most people would assume he spends the offseason there. “Plus like, I played for Spokane, and I’m a Flame, so no one’s going to think it’s weird for me to come to watch the Hitmen kick some American asses. Because fuck those guys.”

Jared snorts.

“Seriously, there is no one on that roster who was on it when I played them, and I still hate that fucking team,” Bryce says. “I need you to like, destroy them.”

“Planning on it,” Jared says. “I still can’t believe you.”

“But you’re happy to see me,” Bryce says confidently, and Jared bites down a smile, because he shouldn’t encourage him. “Hey?” Bryce says, nudging Jared’s foot under the table. “Yeah?”

“Fine, I’m happy to see you,” Jared says.

There is absolutely nothing on that menu that is in either of their nutrition plans except like, salad, dressing on the side, but Bryce orders a giant burger anyway. Jared guesses he _is_ in the offseason, and he hasn’t shed weight like a motherfucker like Jared has, but he’s definitely skinnier than he was at the start of the season. Still.

“That thing is 1300 calories,” Jared says, after he can’t help looking it up to satisfy his morbid curiosity.

“Uh huh,” Bryce says, mouth full.

“Not including the fries,” Jared says. “That’s another 400.”

Bryce nudges the plate in his direction.

“No,” Jared says. 

“Eat some fries,” Bryce whines. “Help me out.”

“No,” Jared says, but he sneaks one or two. Helping Bryce out, obviously.

Bryce has a beer — Jared doesn’t help him out with that, obviously — and demolishes his burger and most of the fries, Jared’s foot tucked between his. He seems unselfconscious about it, about who will see them, what they might think, but then, they’re almost a thousand kilometres from Calgary, and even if someone recognises him, well. He’s got a point — a Chief alumni might want to watch a former rival lose to the team from the city he plays for. Definitely weirder theories, like him being engaged to one of the players. And Jared’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth or anything; he likes Bryce’s unselfconsciousness. It settles him a little, or maybe that’s just Bryce being here, sitting across from him, that helps him forget the bundle of nerves he’s been since he headed out.

“I am,” Jared says, when they have to part ways to go to their respective hotels — Bryce got a different one, and Jared doesn’t know if that was just being smart or because he picked the best one in town and the Hitmen picked one a little cheaper. 

“You are?” Bryce says.

“Happy to see you,” Jared says. “Happy you came. I am.”

“I know,” Bryce says, with this little smile, and if the hug goodbye lingers a little too long to be platonic, well, it’s practically deserted around, so no one’s going to notice.

*

Jared doesn’t know when the nerves become simple anticipation, a sort of comfortable confidence, assurance. Maybe it was sitting across from Bryce in that Applebees, knowing that he’d be in the stands that night, that he came all that way, and after that, it’d be stupid not to let Bryce see him win it all. Maybe it’s filing into the cramped, crappy little Visitors room, one that’s become a little overly familiar, walking in there and knowing it’s probably the last time he’s going to see it, not just this season, but forever, so he might as well make it count.

“The Cup is in the building,” they keep muttering at each other before the game, a little pump up speech. The last time the Cup was in the building, they snatched the win from Tri-City’s hands, and they can do it again, right in front of Tri-City’s fans. Celebrate in an arena quiet except for their own celebration, everyone filing out except the families who came down, the ones who want to watch things regardless. It’s not the same as taking it in Calgary, in front of their own fans, not the same as an entire building celebrating around you.

They’ll take it, though. Every last one of them. They’ll take it, and they’ll be happy with it, and when they win the Mem, they’ll do it in another city that isn’t home, and that will suit them all just fine.

“The Cup is in the building,” Gregory says to Jared one last time before they step onto the ice, and Jared repeats it like a mantra, a sort of prayer.


End file.
